Come Get Some

By Nane Quartay

Come Get Some is a vivid tale of street life and the struggle to conquer poverty, tragedy, and discovering one's self through the indomitable will of the human spirit.

Four friends—Mugwump, Whiteboy Paul, Truitt, and Willmon Angel—are tragic outcasts plunged into a world of shifting morality, sexual exploration, and the stinging reality of racism. An illicit relationship with a high school English teacher, a tragic altercation with the police and a youthful indiscretion force them each to confront their personal demons, revealing hard truths that alter their lives forever. When one of the friends is murdered, their friendship is shattered, and his violent death tears their clique apart as they go their separate ways. Years later, they are reunited and when forced to face the consequences of their actions they hatch a plan to exact revenge on the man responsible for the murder.

Thrust into a world of shifting morality, sexual exploration, and encountering the stinging reality of racism, Come Get Some bridges the gap between a literary, yet fully entertaining style of storytelling. Nane Quartay's bold, literary style captures thoughtful, social commentary through a fast-paced narrative. Come Get Some is a story of survival, friendship, tragedy, and ultimate redemption—revealing how the bonds of friendship can give people the power they need to overcome all obstacles that life sets in their path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strebor Books
• Release date: Apr 1, 2008
• ISBN: 9781416576303

Nane Quartay

Nane Quartay was born in upstate New York and attended Augusta College in Augusta, Georgia. After a tour in the US Navy, he traveled extensively before returning to New York to begin writing his first novel, Feenin'. He’s also the author of Come Get Some, Feel the Fire, Take Two and Pass, and The Badness. He now lives in the Washington, DC area.

Book preview

Me and Miss Jones

Whiteboy Paul felt a chill. She had tangled her legs in the covers and twisted and pulled until he lay naked and exposed. The air conditioner was turned on full blast and the room felt as if the temperature had plunged drastically as they lay on her living room floor. He looked over at her. Even lying at the odd angles that her body was twisted into, he could marvel at the roundness of her hips, the smoothness of her thighs. He reached down and tugged at the covers, pulling them back between her tightly clamped legs but to no avail; there was no prying them loose without waking her up. It was getting late and he knew that he had to get up and go home. Paul didn’t want to make any mistakes and ruin the good thing that he had going.

He was having fantastic sex with his English teacher. Miss Jones.

His father was cool. He knew what was going on and had given Paul his full blessing. But if his mother ever found out, Paul knew that there would be no stopping her, so it was best to keep his business on the discreet side. He sat up and gently moved away from her.

Nina Jones’ voice was thick with sex and sleep as she turned over on her back, watching him. You leaving already?

Yes. I need to get home.

It’s still early. She came fully awake and sat up, causing the covers to fall away from her body.

Not for me, it’s not, Paul said. You know the rules. You’ve got more to lose than I do. Much more. Remember? You should count your blessings that I don’t want to stay here and put my karate on you. That was what they called their clash of the sexes—karate. Miss Jones was good, though; she had plenty of fight in her, and was satisfied to sometimes lose a battle here and there but she had to win the war.

You’re a young buck, she said. You’ve still got tons of fight in you. The exuberance of youth.

Paul liked it when Miss Jones talked like that—talked to him like he was an adult. It always gave him the chance to respond in kind and show her that he was mature beyond his sixteen years. I think that I have an energized sex gene in my DNA, Paul said.And you know you like it! He was convinced that Miss Jones liked him because he was young and hard but he sensed an emotional flaw in her, a need, a desire that was slanted, maybe tainted, but he reasoned that all women were like that so there was nothing for him to worry about. Miss Jones was like the girls in his English class in a lot of ways, but she was his English teacher…and that made the sex even better.

You remember what we talked about? Miss Jones reached over and rubbed his shoulder.

Paul snorted derisively. Yeah. I remember.

You have to understand, she said. I have to be sure, okay? Okay? She waited for Paul to nod his head in understanding before she continued. I trust you. I do. You’re already a man…you’re just waiting for the years to catch up. I know. But I ask more for my benefit. Peace of mind is a beautiful concept. And I need that.

Yes, Paul replied. I know. He turned fully toward her. You like sex a lot, don’t you? He understood the urge—he felt like he was in constant heat, but she was crazy at times. Her sex was so demanding that she left him confused by her wants and desires.

Miss Jones didn’t answer.

We’ve got to be extra careful, she finally said.

Paul turned his back to her, a sly smile playing across his face. I did tell somebody. Miss Jones became instantly alarmed. You know how hard it is to keep this thing to myself? Everybody thinks that I’m still a virgin. And they are all out there having sex.

Who? Miss Jones voice was loud. Who did you tell? Why would you do that?

I only told two people. Paul could feel the tension coming from Miss Jones. Damn!

Okay. Miss Jones blew out a deep breath as she tried to calm herself. Okay. Obviously you trust them. Who? She was speaking calmly, but Paul could hear the anger in her voice.

Relax, he told her. I only told my cousin Naomi and her friend Tracy. They won’t say anything. Naomi and Tracy could instigate riots with their nonstop, know-it-all gossip. As far as they were concerned, everybody’s business was their business and they were obligated, like CNN, to start spreading the news as soon as they heard it. Miss Jones folded her arms and clenched her jaws as she glared at him for a moment.

No, you didn’t, she finally said. You’ve got much too many brains for that. Paul felt the tension slowly draining from the room. You know that you play around a little too much, Paul. He turned toward her with a self-deprecating smile on his face. Her full, round breasts were balanced above the bed sheet and he felt a stirring as his manhood responded to the visual stimulation. There were a few girls at school with breasts like Miss Jones, but none of those girls were easy. They wanted to do everything under the sun: go to movies, go out to eat, hang out with their friends; everything except for getting naked and bumping uglies, but Miss Jones cut straight to the chase.

I’m bad, right? Paul said. I mean, I like to do bad things. He reached out to her protruding breasts and twisted the nipples like he was tuning into a radio station. I like to play with your—

She slapped his hands away. Stop it, Paul.

Why?

Because some things you can’t joke about! Okay? And that is one thing that you can’t joke about. She moved closer to him. Listen. I’m serious. We’ve talked about this before. Have you told anybody about what we do when we’re alone? She sat back and watched him, her hair hanging raggedly around her soft shoulders. Her eyes were clear and penetrating but Paul knew that she was nervous. She had no reason to be. Paul planned on riding the gravy train of easy and passionate sex until he graduated from high school. He wouldn’t say a word to anyone about Miss Jones.

He moved closer to her until their faces were inches apart and then he took Miss Jones’ hand. Looking deeply into her eyes as a smile spread across his face, he guided her hand down to the stiffness between his legs. Sex with you is too good to mess up. He pressed his lips to hers; driving his tongue into her mouth the way that he knew she liked it. She gently began sucking his tongue like she was giving him head. Way too good, Paul managed to say when he broke away. Rising from the floor he reached down for his pants and began to get dressed. But I really need to get home.

Miss Jones smiled at him. You know, you need to find a way to spend the night with me.

That’s like an impossible dream, Paul said. I already thought about it from every angle and it can’t happen. He looked down at her for a second. Believe me! I’ve dreamed that impossible dream.

You sure about that? Anything is possible.

Look. I have to go. Paul finished dressing and quietly crossed the room to the back door. He took a long look out of the back window into the lush foliage that hid the back door of Miss Jones’ house from the rest of the neighborhood. He remembered the first time that he was with Miss Jones. They had sex on the couch and he noticed that her living room was visible through the window near the back door. When he mentioned it to Miss Jones, she simply quieted him with a kiss and he hadn’t mentioned it again. Later, when they had established a routine, he had come to understand why. Whenever they would meet, he would have to sneak around the back and look in through that window to make sure that there was no one there. Even then, he still had to knock twice, slip back into the trees for a minute and, after she appeared at the window, he would have to knock twice again before she would let him in. They had to be extra careful.

Paul gave the yard one last look before stepping outside. Miss Jones lived in a townhouse that stood behind a long tract of trees and foliage that separated her house from the row of townhouses on the next street. Paul walked down a slightly beaten path to where he had chained his bike to the thin trunk of a young tree. He emerged from the bushes nearly two blocks away near a huge, brown wooden house.

Paul jumped on his bike and started pedaling toward Promenade Park. The park sat next to the Fannie Mae building, its large, grassy manicured lawns interspersed with concrete walkways encircling the small, manmade lakes that were edged by multicolored flowers. Couples could often be seen in the middle of the fields, lying on their backs, looking up at the sun as they enjoyed its warmth. He was supposed to meet Truitt up by the Fannie Mae building, but now he was running late. He pedaled harder, hoping that Truitt would still be there.

His mind drifted back to Miss Jones. She was kind of crazy. Something about her was a little off. Paul couldn’t quite put his finger on it, couldn’t supply a name for her malfunction, but he knew it was there all the same. If word ever got out that she was having sex with a student, she would be labeled a sexual predator and her life would be ruined, yet she attacked him in bed like she was a lion that had been unleashed. A smile spread across Paul’s face while the wind swept through his hair, his eyes glowing with the memory as the blocks sped past on his way to the park.

Sex.

Actually, Miss Jones was better than sex. She was better than he could ever have imagined sex could be, and sometimes he felt as if he could not contain his excitement. He was banging Miss Jones!

Paul stepped up his pace another gear as he approached Underhill, a steep, upward climb that always required great effort to reach the top. Steep hills created challenges for Paul whenever he was on his bike; especially if he happened upon a hill when Truitt and Mugwump were with him. They treated each hill like it was a personal challenge from the Man above that they had to meet and conquer, with a certain measure of pride and bragging rights going to the first one to make it to the top. The upside to their race to the top was the relaxing glide down the other side, with feet and legs dangling stress-free as the cool wind blew against their faces. Paul was panting when he topped Underhill and was still breathing hard as he glided downhill, turned on Union Street and coasted into the park. Truitt was sitting on a bench near the entrance with his bicycle lying on the ground near his feet. Paul coasted over, pulled up next to the bench and dropped his bike on the ground next to Truitt’s, quickly taking a seat next to him.

Whattup? Truitt leaned back on his elbows while watching a group of kids playing a pickup football game.

Shit, Paul said. You want to get next? He indicated the football game.

Truitt looked on as one of the boys came sweeping around the corner on an end run, striding in open spaces for a second, but that opening was quickly slammed closed and he was met with a vicious tackle that forced the ball from his hands. Fumble! The cry rang out, followed by a frenzy of bodies diving for the